


Not the ring you'd expect

by Magnolia822



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Cock Piercing, Coming In Pants, Crack Treated Seriously, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Genital Piercing, Large Cock, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29790720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnolia822/pseuds/Magnolia822
Summary: Aziraphale has a Prince Albert; Crowley wants to see.That's all folks - this is a fic about dick piercings. Written for my Good Omens Bingo 2021 square 'body art.'
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 230
Collections: Good Omens Bingo 2021





	Not the ring you'd expect

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have any really good excuse for this - but neither does Aziraphale.

“You’ve got a . . . piercing.” 

“A Prince Albert, yes.” 

They are drinking wine at the bookshop, and have been for some time - maybe two bottles, maybe three. Crowley isn’t one hundred percent sure he’s heard correctly, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to be joking. He is sipping his wine with a very serene expression on his face. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Well, that’s not my problem, my dear.” 

It had started innocently enough, as a discussion of which human fashion trends they had found the most interesting through the ages - Crowley had always been a fan of tattoos, Aziraphale loved the luxurious wigs of the 18th century, both of them agreed that makeup could be fun, and neither liked wearing corsets. Crowley himself had dabbled in piercings throughout the years, but nothing he liked enough to keep on a permanent basis, and never anything in the genital region. 

He was feeling a little bit like Aziraphale was cooler than him, and it was the most disconcerting thing he’d ever experienced - which was saying something, because only two months ago he’d lived through the end of the world. 

“Uh . . . okay, then. Since when?” 

“Oh, in the mid-nineteenth century or thereabouts. It was the done thing in certain circles, among some young gentlemen of my acquaintance. Trousers were awfully tight in those days, and it helped with dressing - right or left, you know. I figured, why not give it a try? After all, I could always miracle it away if it was not to my taste. I found I quite liked the way it looked, so I kept it. Is that so hard to believe?” 

“N-ngh - Ah. A little! You do know that one of the reasons people do it is for sexual pleasure, right?” 

“Of course. That was also a consideration.” 

The room suddenly felt very warm, and Crowley felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Sssomeone’s sake, angel! I leave you on your own for one century!” 

“They were some rather interesting years. I learned many things.” Aziraphale looked up at the ceiling, resting his full glass of wine against his belly, seemingly in a reverie. Then he glanced back at Crowley. “Of course, I did miss you very much.” 

He didn’t sound as sincere as Crowley would have liked. Crowley took a giant glug of wine feeling like he was having an out of body experience - who was this angel, and what had they done with HIS angel - his out of touch, anxious, sexually inexperienced angel? His angel who hadn’t bought a new coat in over a hundred years, who had certainly never given Crowley any intimate details regarding his anatomy before? Who hadn’t fornicated with humans! 

Then again, Aziraphale was a bit of a bastard, and that was one of the reasons Crowley loved him. Ever since the Apocalypse that wasn’t, it had become more and more clear that there were some things about Aziraphale he simply didn’t know. 

It was the bastard who was smiling over at him now. “I see that I’ve surprised you, my dear.” 

“Ah, I’m fine. Just a little . . . drunk, s’all.” He couldn’t stop his eyes from dipping down, to the bulge of fabric between Aziraphale’s thighs. He couldn’t help imagining what it must look like. His own trousers felt tighter, which was a feat, as they were practically painted on already.

“Hmm.” Aziraphale smiled knowingly and sipped his wine. 

They had been dancing around one another for months, Crowley afraid to do anything _too fast_ for fear of driving the angel away, and Aziraphale seemingly content to wait until the next Apocalypse to make a move. Crowley was very aware that both of them were idiots, but he wasn’t sure how to break a pattern of idiocy that had existed for millennia. 

Aziraphale was apparently doing his best to break it now.

Feeling a little emboldened by the wine, and a little like he was calling the angel’s bluff, Crowley took another large sip of wine and said, “All right then. Show me.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened slightly, and he straightened up a bit in his chair. Crowley expected him to say no, and to even potentially be tossed from the bookshop for daring to suggest such a thing, but Aziraphale only stared at him. There was an unmistakable shift in the energy between them - the air thickened, a tension which stretched on and on the longer they were both silent. Crowley held his breath, his heart thumping in his chest as Aziraphale put his wine glass down and moved his hands to the fastening on his trousers. 

A beat passed, then two, as he undid the buttons. Crowley licked his lips, his thoughts running wild all the way from _stop let’s not do this, let it be romantic, let me take you to the Ritz, let me be the one to undress you, let me_ to _fuck yes._

Fabric rustled. There were no other sounds save for their breathing. Crowley was achingly hard, his prick trapped against his thigh, and when Aziraphale finally got himself out, the first thing Crowley saw was the glint of metal at the tip. 

It was true. 

“Oh,” Crowley said, as his mind finally registered what he was seeing. Aziraphale held himself in one hand, using the other to push away the material, and there it was - a neat, smooth silver loop at the head of his fat cock (a little larger than Crowley had expected) and with a bead under the glans. He was partially hard and getting harder under Crowley’s stare. They were only five feet apart or so, and the lighting was dim, but Crowley’s senses sharpened. He had always seen well in the dark, being a demon, and he wasn’t going to miss a thing.

“Are you satisfied?” Aziraphale asked, his voice quiet and laced with more than a hint of arousal.

“Not yet. How does it feel? When you touch yourself?” Crowley could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“It feels quite nice.” 

Aziraphale was fully hard now, jutting from the open fly of his trousers. Crowley stopped blinking as the angel slowly, carefully stroked his hand from base to tip. He was clutching the armchair with his other hand, worrying a loose piece of fabric with his thumb, but his eyes were locked on Crowley. 

“Is this what you wanted to see?” Aziraphale asked. He moved his hand slowly over himself, stopping at the top to rub his thumb over his piercing and slit, such a practiced movement that it was very clear that this was how Aziraphale pleasured himself when he was alone. 

Someone preserve him! Crowley had often thought that it was possible Aziraphale enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh, though they had never talked about it. He loved Earth’s other pleasures well enough - not that the angel was a hedonist, not exactly, but he had an intense and discerning appreciation for the finer things - classical music, wine, food, clothing. It only made sense that he had dabbled over the years - but this, this. This was quickly driving Crowley to the brink himself, and he wondered if he could ever face the angel again if he made a mess in his jeans. Already, there was a little wet spot that was obvious enough if you cared to look - and Aziraphale didn’t miss much. 

Their mingled breathing was louder now, and Aziraphale bit his bottom lip as he looked from Crowley to what he was doing, the slow, methodical stroke that had Crowley’s own toes curling. He wanted to know what it felt like, but he didn’t dare offer to help. He was frozen, immobilized, afraid that one false move would find him waking up in bed, soaking his sheets. 

“Fuck, angel,” Crowley whispered as Aziraphale grew bolder. He stopped playing with the thread on the chair and started playing with his piercing, tugging on it a little with one hand as the other worked his shaft. His lips were parted, his eyes nearly all pupil. His cock was an impressive length and girth, and Crowley wanted nothing more to see if he could fit it all in his mouth. He swallowed convulsively, the pressure in his groin becoming so unbearable he couldn’t resist palming himself to relieve some of the ache. Of course that only made it worse. He was going to come in his pants like a human teenager without even being touched - what a disaster. 

Aziraphale was panting now, close to reaching his climax. His rhythm increased. The tip of his cock was swollen and glistening with wetness, the piercing shiny with it too. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, breathy, “would you—”

“Anything. Anything.” 

“Kiss me?” 

Crowley nearly fell out of his chair in his haste. He threw himself into a straddle over Aziraphale’s lap and found his mouth, and everything was messy and hungry as they kissed and Aziraphale’s hand moved between them. Crowley held the angel’s face and kissed him deeply, his body thrumming with the connection, and he couldn’t help pushing his own needy cock against Aziraphale, and when the angel came with a sigh into his mouth only seconds later he felt the warmth of it painting his trousers. That was what did it for him. He was over the moon, in another galaxy, every atom pulsing with electric heat - and Aziraphale was still kissing him. 

When it was over, they looked at each other. Crowley looked down at the mess, at Aziraphale’s softening cock and the silver adorning it, and he laughed. 

“It’s not very good manners to laugh at someone you’ve just had relations with, Crowley.” 

‘I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at us - at this. I . . . you really surprise me, angel. You’re more of a bastard than I thought.” 

Aziraphale looked a little pleased. His hands, miracled clean, came to rest on the small of Crowley’s back and squeezed him tightly. “It was an unexpected twist to the evening, I must confess, but I think, a good one. I had been trying to figure out a polite way of inquiring if you’d like to pursue a sexual relationship. I wasn’t sure how you felt about such things.” 

“I . . . ah, thought you knew.” 

“I knew about your romantic feelings, my dear, as I believe you must know mine. This is another thing entirely, but one that is most welcome.” 

“Nnngh,” Crowley said, his giggles fading. “Do you have any other surprises for me?” 

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale said with a glint in his eye, “I certainly do.”


End file.
